


The Taste Of Salt

by LeastExpected_Archivist



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, M/M, Points of View
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-02-04
Updated: 2002-02-04
Packaged: 2021-03-06 14:41:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26320573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeastExpected_Archivist/pseuds/LeastExpected_Archivist
Summary: By MJ.Waiting for Sam.
Relationships: Frodo Baggins/Sam Gamgee
Kudos: 1
Collections: Least Expected





	The Taste Of Salt

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Amy Fortuna, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Least Expected](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Least_Expected), which has been offline since 2002. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on the [Least Expected collection profile](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/leastexpected/profile).
> 
> Disclaimer: These characters were created by J.R.R. Tolkien and belong to him alone. I make no profits from their visits to any of these stories.  
> Feedback: Yes, please. Any kind!  
> Story Notes: This story follows [Sense (1 & 2)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26320657) and [Not Far Now](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26320711).

Frodo Baggins had never panicked before in his entire life, had never known the fear that now fluttered through his chest and sent him to the nearest chair, trembling all over, heart beating so fast he could hardly breathe. 

Sam was coming today. This morning. To Bag End. And what was this miserable Baggins supposed to do now? 

The predawn darkness of his familiar hall held no answers and all that Gandalf had said was, '...open your heart and listen...'. But how? And to what? 

Somewhere in the distance, a cock crowed, and Frodo jumped up, a fresh stab of alarm slamming through his heart. 

Sam was coming today, this morning. And what was he supposed to say? 

With a little moan, Frodo dropped back into the chair, combing his fingers through curls gone wild. By all that was good and decent, when had Sam happened to him? When had his comfortable and orderly existence taken on the guise of torture? When had the Gaffer's youngest son begun walking through his dreams, claiming his heart and turning his life upside down? 

Frodo let his hands fall back to his lap and closed his eyes, memories tumbling madly round his head... 

Sam... standing behind behind the hedge with his busy clippers, eyeing the new Spring growth with an air of fortitude and whistling under the breezy overcast sky... 

Sam... on hands and knees in the garden, humming a jaunty tune and occasionally reminding the weeds there were other places to grow than among Mr. Frodo's vegetables... 

Sam... walking up the path from Bag Shot Row, grinning in the morning sun, his face full of light and happiness just to be alive... 

Sam... smiling shyly up from under his thick curly hair to watch as Frodo chewed thoughtfully. "...our Hal's mum had a new recipe, from Old Harning's cousin. And since I know how much you like seedcake..." 

Frodo crossed his arms over a stomach that seemed to be tied in endless knots. Dear Sam... If that soft voice had ever uttered an unkind word, Frodo had never heard it. If those clear, bright eyes had ever held anything other than joy and honesty... 

Frodo shuddered, squeezing his eyes shut. But the tears had their way and his lips tasted of salt as he caught his breath. For a very long time now, he'd been able to avoid looking into those trusting eyes, so afraid of something showing on his own face, in his own eyes, that would turn Sam away in disgust. Through his bitter, cold anger, Frodo almost smiled. What would a lad like Sam ever see in him? 

Frodo pressed both palms against his eyes, curling around the pain in his chest. The truth was hard to bear, but in all of the Shire, there couldn't possibly be a hobbit more unimportant, more useless than himself. What had he ever done with his life but write letters and spend Bilbo's money? What sorts of things did he know that mattered? Did he know how to build a new Hole, how to repair his own? Did he know how to set a hayfield, when to pull in the corn? Could he cut flagstones or sew a fine, new waistcoat? At most, he knew how to cook and bake, how to mend rips and tears in his clothing. How to dust and clean and sweep and... damn, blow smoke rings. Frodo pushed harder, until his eyes hurt. But the salt filled his mouth, bitter and cold. 

The rosy glow of dawn had spread its light through the hall before Frodo dropped his hands from his eyes, sagging into the chair. It hurt to move, it hurt to breathe. And he was so tired. But Sam was coming this morning and this would be Frodo's last chance to listen, his last chance... 

Gripping the arms of the old chair, Frodo pushed himself up, swaying a little as the room spun round. It was far past time to get breakfast ready if he meant to greet Sam. 

And then softly, between one breath and the next, with sweet birdsong filling the morning air, there came a knock on the door...


End file.
